Flying High and Gouged: The EL AL Experience in Wartime

Introduction: Welcome Aboard, Your Wallet’s in Danger!

When you think about flying to Israel, your mind probably conjures up an image of soaring through the skies in comfort and safety, gliding towards the Holy Land with a smile and a warm feeling of patriotism in your heart. What could be more uplifting than heading to the Land of Milk and Honey, a beacon of history, culture, and resilience, especially during times of war? Unfortunately, this mental image shatters when you book your flight with EL AL Israel Airlines.

EL AL is not just an airline; it’s a test of faith, patience, and endurance. They proudly boast about being the “most secure airline in the world,” they should, given that every passenger goes through an interrogation that could rival a Mossad job interview. But with great security comes great absurdity. Once you’ve been grilled about your life story by an airport security agent who seems suspicious of your childhood hobbies, you’re rewarded with the privilege of paying triple the usual airfare. Oh, and don’t forget to pay for your carry-on bag too—it’s not just your suitcase that gets gouged; it’s your soul.

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Flying with EL AL during a war takes this entire experience to a new level. It’s a journey that will leave you questioning your decision-making skills, loyalty to the State of Israel, and whether flying was worth skipping the long swim across the Mediterranean. But hey, the marketing department at EL AL has clearly mastered its craft. They’ll convince you that paying $3,000 for a middle seat in the back row with no reclining function is your patriotic duty. After all, nothing screams “solidarity” like flying on an airline that makes you pay extra for a bottle of water while they play a decades-old movie on a screen the size of a matchbox.

The Noble Commitment to Keep Flying… and the Bottom Line

Let’s give credit where credit is due: EL AL deserves praise for continuing to operate during wartime. When other airlines throw up their hands and say, “Sorry, we don’t do missile zones,” EL AL says, “Bring it on.” That’s not nothing. There’s something undeniably comforting about knowing that no matter how chaotic the situation on the ground, EL AL will keep flying. It’s a testament to their determination and belief in connecting the diaspora with the homeland.

But let’s not kid ourselves: EL AL’s decision to keep flying isn’t purely an act of selfless heroism. It’s also a business decision. The reality is that EL AL keeps flying because it makes money. And you know what? That’s not inherently a bad thing! In a world where airlines constantly teeter on the edge of bankruptcy, staying profitable is an impressive feat. After all, patriotism alone doesn’t pay for jet fuel.

Still, there’s a certain… tone to how EL AL capitalizes on crises. While other airlines might offer discounted flights or waive fees to accommodate passengers during tough times, EL AL does the opposite. They double down. Need to visit family in Israel during a war? That’ll be $2,500—one way. Oh, and you’ll need to pay extra for checked baggage, a seat assignment, and even a bag of pretzels. It’s as if they’ve looked at the chaos and said, “How can we squeeze every last shekel out of this situation?”

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And let’s be clear: there’s nothing wrong with capitalism. But when you’re already charging triple the normal airfare, maybe don’t charge $10 for a bottle of water smaller than the average Israeli startup office. It’s one thing to turn a profit; it’s another to turn your customers into human ATMs.

Will People Forget? Or Will EL AL’s True Colors Linger?

Here’s the big question: when the war is over, when the skies are clear, and when other airlines inevitably return to service, will people remember how EL AL behaved during the crisis? Will they forget the price gouging, the endless fees, and the sheer audacity of charging top dollar for bottom-tier service? Or will they shrug and say, “Eh, that’s EL AL for you”?

History suggests the latter. If there’s one thing EL AL knows, it’s that they don’t need to win any popularity contests to stay in business. Their customers have notoriously short memories. When the next holiday season rolls around, travelers will be back on their website, grumbling about the prices but booking tickets anyway because “it’s the safest airline.” EL AL’s marketing department deserves an award for this kind of loyalty. They’ve convinced people that flying EL AL isn’t just a choice; it’s a duty. And once patriotism enters the equation, all logic flies out the window.

But here’s the catch: while EL AL’s patriotic messaging is undeniably effective, it has a shelf life. In a time of war, people will tolerate a lot. They’ll pay higher prices, accept worse service, and grit their teeth through long delays because they believe they’re supporting something bigger than themselves. But when the dust settles, and life returns to normal, those same passengers might ask hard questions.

“Why did I pay $12,000 for a flight that didn’t even include a meal?”
“Why did I feel I was being interrogated just for wanting to visit my family?”
“Why does EL AL treat its customers like they’re inconveniences instead of paying guests?”

If EL AL isn’t careful, they might find that their wartime profiteering has long-term consequences. Because while Israelis are fiercely loyal, they’re also fiercely opinionated. And nothing sparks a national debate, like the feeling of being taken advantage of.

A Love-Hate Relationship

The frustrating thing about EL AL is that you can hate how they operate, but you can’t deny their importance. They’re more than just an airline; they symbolize Israel’s perseverance. And in times of crisis, symbols matter.

Flying EL AL isn’t just about getting to your destination. It’s about being part of a larger story, one that’s filled with resilience, determination, and, yes, a little bit of chaos. It’s about feeling connected to something bigger than yourself, even if that connection comes with a hefty price tag and a side of soggy airplane food.

EL AL isn’t perfect. They’re not even close. But they’re ours. And maybe that’s why we keep returning no matter how much they frustrate us. Because, for better or worse, EL AL isn’t just an airline. It’s Israel.

Of course, it would be nice if “being Israel” didn’t include charging $1,000 for a second checked bag and make sure that it doesn’t arrive with you. But hey, nobody’s perfect.

To Fly or Not to Fly: That is the Question

So why would anyone, in their right mind, book a ticket with EL AL during a time of war? The short answer: because you have no choice. The long answer: because you’ve been guilted into it by a combination of Jewish pride, guilt-tripping relatives, and the nagging belief that flying with EL AL somehow guarantees your safety. It doesn’t, by the way. But don’t let that stop you from forking over your life savings for flying on an airline that treats its passengers like it’s doing them a favor.

It starts innocently enough. You’re scrolling online, looking at your travel options. Delta, American and United Airlines have suddenly stopped flying to Israel due to “unforeseen circumstances” (read: missiles). EL AL is still operating because, of course, it is. “No one messes with EL AL,” you think, conveniently ignoring that no one messes with EL AL because no one wants to fly EL AL.

The prices, you notice, are higher than usual. “It’s wartime,” you rationalize. “Of course, it’ll cost more. It’s about safety, right? And security. And patriotism. And…wait, how much are they charging for a direct flight from New York to Tel Aviv?” You refresh the page, thinking the number on your screen must be a mistake. Spoiler alert: it isn’t.

Welcome to EL AL Pricing: Where Your Savings Come to Die

EL AL doesn’t just charge you for a flight; they charge you for everything. Want to sit in a seat that doesn’t make you question your chiropractor’s abilities? That’ll be $250 extra. Want to check a bag? Add another $1,000. Oh, you’re bringing a carry-on? That’s $75—each way. Planning to eat on the flight? That’ll cost you. And no, the complimentary bag of pretzels doesn’t count as a meal, no matter how hard the flight attendant tries to convince you otherwise.

During times of war, this pricing structure gets even more creative. Suddenly, there are “special wartime surcharges” and “security fees” that sound official but are as vague as the instructions for assembling IKEA furniture. One might even suspect EL AL sees wartime as a business opportunity—a chance to rake in as much money as possible while customers are too stressed to argue. After all, what are you going to do? Book a flight with someone else? Good luck with that.

It’s a genius business model. EL AL knows its market. They know that no matter how outrageous their prices are, people will still book with them because they’re seen as the “safe” option. What’s a little price gouging when your other option is dodging missiles on your way to the airport?

The Security Theater: A Comedy of Errors

Flying with EL AL isn’t just air travel—it’s an immersive experience in paranoia, overkill, and a bit of unintentional comedy. Their security procedures are legendary, often called the gold aviation safety standard. And let me tell you; they take the “gold standard” part very literally because by the time you’ve gone through it, you’ll feel like you’ve run an Olympic decathlon while simultaneously confessing your darkest secrets on national television.

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The process begins long before you even sniff the check-in counter. First, you’re approached by a security agent who looks disinterested and as if they’ve already solved your entire life story. This isn’t your run-of-the-mill “take off your shoes” TSA interaction. No, no. EL AL security is a conversation that makes you question not just your trip but your entire existence.

They start with the classics:
“Who packed your bags?”
“Where are you staying in Israel?”
“Do you have friends or family in the country?”

And then, just as you’re starting to relax, they hit you with curveballs:
“Do you trust your friends?”
“Have you ever handled explosives? What about metaphorical explosives, like bad relationships?”
“Why are you still single? You’re such a catch!”

At some point, you start wondering whether this is airport security or an unsolicited therapy session. And let’s be honest, sometimes it’s hard to tell the difference. The agent maintains eye contact like a laser beam as you stumble through answers, wondering if your habit of packing at the last minute is about to land you on some kind of watchlist. Every pause you take feels like a confession, and every nervous chuckle feels like a felony.

A Unique Brand of Hospitality

Once you’re finally on board, you’re greeted by EL AL’s flight attendants, who possess a unique combination of efficiency and disdain. They’re not here to make you feel comfortable but to ensure you follow the rules. And there are a lot of rules.

Want to recline your seat? Not during meal service. Need to use the bathroom? Wait until the seatbelt sign is off. Planning to stretch your legs? Not without getting a stern look from the flight attendant, who seems genuinely offended by your desire to avoid blood clots.

Despite all this, there’s a strange camaraderie among the passengers. Maybe it’s the shared suffering or the knowledge that everyone on board is enduring the same absurd experience. Whatever the reason, a sense of solidarity can only come from flying EL AL during a time of war. It’s like being part of an exclusive club, except you get overpriced snacks and a sore back instead of perks.

Why We Keep Coming Back

Why do people keep flying with EL AL? Why, despite the astronomical prices, endless fees, and service that hovers somewhere between a drill sergeant and your grumpy neighbor, do we willingly book a seat on this airborne rollercoaster of chaos? The answer is oddly therapeutic: because EL AL isn’t just an airline—it’s Israel.

It’s loud, infuriating, relentless, and somehow still makes you feel like you belong. EL AL isn’t selling you a flight; it’s selling you a connection to something bigger. It’s the carrier of resilience, a steel bird that keeps flying no matter how many missiles are in the sky or how many customers are screaming at the gate agents. Flying EL AL feels like sitting at the Shabbat table with your extended family: chaotic, overwhelming, and at least one person will yell about something—but it’s home.

And let’s be honest: there’s also something deeply comforting about knowing your flight crew is trained like a commando unit. If things go sideways, you’re not just in good hands; you’re in the hands of people who could probably land the plane with one hand while making hummus with the other. Sure, the seat might not recline, and you’ll have to pay extra for a bottle of water, but no one’s hijacking this flight.

Flying EL AL is less about convenience and more about endurance. It’s a rite of passage, a test of your patience, humor, and ability to survive a twelve-hour flight sandwiched between a screaming toddler and a man loudly explaining his cousin’s falafel recipe. You don’t just take an EL AL flight—you survive it. And the moment you step off the plane, you feel a strange sense of pride, as though you’ve completed some unspoken loyalty test to Israel itself.

So buckle up. You’re not just boarding a plane at Gate A4 —you’re embarking on a journey that’s equal parts comedy, frustration, and therapy. If there’s one thing EL AL teaches you, it’s this: You are stronger than you think. Or at least, your wallet is.